


Prognostication

by silverstardust



Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [5]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Avalanches, Board Games, Childhood Memories, Forebodings, Fortune Telling, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Headaches & Migraines, Illnesses, Joxter also is a cat, Joxter is mentioned, Joxter?, Kinda, Lesbians to the Rescue, Mymble Jr, Mymlans 34 other children are present and around, NO DEATHS, Nosebleed, Ocean, Panic, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Recovered Memories, Rescue Missions, SCRYING, Sickfic, Snow, Snufkin tries to be an okay brother, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws and a Tail, Snusmumriken | Snufkin is a Cat, Swimming, Tarot, The snufmin is hinted but not explictly stated, Too Ticki, Wilderness Survival, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstardust/pseuds/silverstardust
Summary: Prognostication- noun, the action of foretelling or prophesying future events."You're not sick," Mymble said with enough certainty in her voice that Snufkin hesitated in questioning her."What?""You're not sick. You're having forebodings. Your father always said the first ones are the worst."--July 30, 2020 Update: A heavily edited version of this story is in the works for publication. Any publication of this story or a story similar is authorized.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495559
Comments: 57
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a small headache, the kind that was a faint, ignorable stinging, that went away once you drank a small cup of coffee and stopped bothering you.

But it didn’t. It lingered, it became the type that reared its head every so often, just to be annoying, before fading back to a mild ache. The throbbing worsened when someone raised their voice. Moominmama’s medicine for headaches from her grandmother’s recipe book didn’t work either. But by that point, Snufkin’s head had been aching the entire day and he had given up, chalking it up to a particularly stubborn headache. As soon as the sun began to set, Snufkin retired to his campsite with the hope of sleeping it off.

He was regretting that decision right about now.

Snufkin had woken up from- something. A nightmare, he was pretty sure, but the threads of what he’d dreamt had disappeared the second he opened his eyes, like candy floss dissolving into water, his attempts to grasp what remained utterly useless when there was nothing that was left.

In place of the nightmare though was a headache unlike any other Snufkin had experienced.

The pounding in his head rattled his brain around like it was stuck in the raging ocean tide during a devastating storm, with every movement aggravating the throbbing. The walls of his tent swirled out of control, off rhythm and with no pattern as Snufkin grit his teeth and pushed himself up into a sitting position, the pulsing in his head very angry at his attempt to move. The fur on his hands was tacky with fever sweat and his hair was plastered to his forehead, his body feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold, and Snufkin wanted nothing more than to lie back down with the way his head seemed intent on killing him, but he had the feeling he wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. (Ha.)

So he steeled his nerves, not bothering to grab his jacket, and crawled out of his tent before wobbling rising to his feet.

It was late, but it was only the second week of spring, and since the Moomins had only woken from hibernation up a couple days ago, he was betting they’d be up a little later than normal to get some of their spring cleaning done. He’d get to Moominhouse and then… He didn’t know what then, but it’d be better than lying in agony alone in his tent.

Snufkin knew the constellations above Moomin Valley like he knew the back of his hand, but the sky was a useless mess of twinkling lights and swirling colors, mixing together as the constellations fell apart, like someone had taken a palette of paint and carelessly flung it onto a canvas. The mess of lights only made his head pound worse, so Snufkin dropped his gaze to the grass below his feet, trying to keep steady as he began to make his way over to Moominhouse. His head throbbed and ached with every step he took, and his knees almost buckled in relief when he reached the bridge that crossed over the creek, the halfway point between his camp and Moominhouse.

Something was trickling down his face now, coating his tongue and teeth with a heavy iron taste, dripping from his chin and onto the blue fabric of his night clothes. Snufkin collapsed against the bridge railing, using it as support as he leaned over it and spat into the river, trying to clear the bitter taste from his mouth. As soon as his knees were somewhat steadier beneath him, he cleared his throat and looked up the hill, to see if all of this effort trying to reach Moominhouse was even worth it.

Like a sort of saving grace, the windows on the bottom floor of Moominhouse were still lit up, shadows occasionally passing over them as the trolls inside continued to work on dusting the house down and what else they had left to do. Snufkin groaned, pushing himself away from the bridge railing and continued to force himself up the path.

Snufkin nearly cried in relief when he finally stumbled up the steps of the veranda. He collapsed against the door, letting his weight leaning against it swing open, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted from total darkness to a well lit room.

He couldn’t see very well, the world still swirling in nauseating patterns but three somethings vaguely moomintroll-shaped in the room stopped whatever they were doing. He could imagine he wasn’t a very pretty sight to them right about now, flushed with fever and panting with exertion, blood dripping from his nose and staining the fabric of his nightshirt.

One of the vaguely moomintroll somethings grabbed his left shoulder, holding him steady, and then someone else grabbed his right and they began leading him through the house and up the stairs with urgency, holding him steady in between them. Something soft was shoved up against his face, up against his nose, and Snufkin weakly held it there to try and stop the blood flow as he shut his eyes, the spinning, swirling stairs making him feel like he’d throw up any second. He was pretty sure the person on his left (he couldn’t tell who was who, the scents of ink and tobacco or fresh bread and tea or meadow wildflowers blocked by the stench of his own blood) was trying to talk to talk to him, but it was all noise, just a tone with no words attached to it, like he was underwater. Snufkin furrowed his brows and opened his eyes slightly, trying to understand them but no matter how hard he tried to concentrate with his pounding head, he couldn’t make the noise make sense.

The somebodies set him down on something soft and cushiony (the guest bed?) before letting go of him. There was more tone-without-words that he couldn’t understand, and then one of the somebodies put their paws on him again, trying to coax him out of his bloody nightshirt. Snufkin let them, trying to cooperate as much as he could get his limbs to when they began to pull on a clean one.

Snufkin pulled the cloth away from his face at someone’s prompting and then Moominmama was in front of him (he knew it was her, the scent of fresh bread and tea strong enough to smell now). A cup was pushed into his hands, and she gripped her paws around his, helping him drink the contents.

It was thick and goopy, with chunks of something inside it, the taste strong and familiar but something that Snufkin couldn’t quite place, forcing the (presumably) medicine down his throat. Then the empty cup was replaced with a cup of water and he greedily gulped it down, washing away the taste left in his mouth.

And then somebody’s paws were on his shoulders again, guiding him to lie down, a blanket tossed over him, and a warm, damp cloth placed on his forehead, and somehow between the incessant aching of his head and the nauseating swirling of the room around him, the darkness of sleep overtook Snufkin.


	2. Chapter 2

Snufkin’s eyes slowly opened as the sensation of methodical rocking roused him from sleep. Not yet fully awake, the wordless tones of voices echoed dully in his ears, and the scent of a mild, yet sweet perfume filled the air. There was still a minor pounding in the back of his head, now accompanied by a faint ache in his joints that made him very much not want to get up, but the overwhelming feelings of nausea and the hot-cold, overheating sensations of the fever were gone. Snufkin slowly lifted his head, blinking away the fuzziness of sleep.

“Mom…?”

Mymble smiled softly, kissing his forehead. “Good morning, dear. Moominmamma just left, but she brought you some breakfast. Feel well enough for a bite?”

Snufkin sat up as Mymble stopped the rocking chair’s movement, and she reached around him slightly, taking a sip from a mug of cold tea next to the tray on the nightstand. On the tray was a glass of Moominmamma’s strawberry juice, and Snufkin picked up the glass.

“I’m going to get you sick.”

“You’re not sick,” Mymble said. There was such an intense certainty in her voice that Snufkin hesitated. He wasn’t about to doubt any of her parental knowledge, not with his self-dubbed horde of sisters, but he had felt so awful last night that if he hadn’t been sick, he had not a clue of what else it could have been.

“What?”

“You’re not sick,” Mymble repeated, scooping him up with ease and setting him down on the bed. “You’re having forebodings. Your father did say the first one’s always a doozy of a foreboding.”

“What?” Snufkin asked again weakly.

Mymble pressed his forehead to her cheek. “Forebodings. Or psychic predictions, a sixth sense, whatever you want to call it. Good, your fever has gone down.”

“You mean that wasn’t part of Moominpappa’s embellishments?” Snufkin set the half empty glass of juice aside, taking the plate of toast and taking a few hesitant bites.

Mymble picked up a leather journal from the windowsill and passed it over to him. “No. From what your father wrote about them, it actually seems pretty common for mumriks to have them. He wrote this when you were born, since he left during the winter and sometimes took short trips during the summer. He wanted to make sure I had the knowledge necessary if you got sick, and forebodings is one of the things he wrote about.”

Snufkin gripped the journal tightly, like if he didn’t it might fade from existence. He flipped through the pages slowly, skimming over the aging paper, and stopped on the page detailing forebodings. “So what do I do then?”

“As far as I ever learned, there’s not really a way to stop them, but your father talked about them like you talk about your cards. Sometimes a pest but mostly helpful, I mean. But he wrote everything he knew about them in there to help you.” Mymble stood up from the rocking chair, smoothing out her dress and grabbing her shawl draped over the back of the chair, throwing it over her shoulders. “And.. at home, in the attic, there’s a chest.”

Snufkin paused, looking up to her.

Mymble smiled at him again, but it seemed almost a little sad. “It’s your father’s. Spare clothes, and some things he didn’t want to take on his travels but didn’t want to throw away. It’s covered by a sheet, but it’s yours to go through if you’d like. I haven’t touched it in years, so I don’t know what’s inside, but there might be something useful.” She leaned forward and kissed Snufkin’s forehead again. “I better go and check on your sisters. I left Mumble and Peggy in charge without much of a warning. But if there’s anything you need or any questions you have, please come talk to me. I’ll try to help as best I can.”

“I will. Thanks mom.”

Mymble ruffled his hair and left the bedroom. The door hadn’t even closed all the way before Moomin poked his head in.

“Miss Mymble said you were feeling better. Would you mind company?”

“Not at all.” Snufkin scooted over on the bed as Moomin walked in and climbed onto the bed next to him.

“I heard your mom talking with mama. She said you’re going to start having forebodings like Uncle Joxter. Does that mean you have psychic powers now like Snorkmaiden did that one time? Can you tell me what I’m thinking?”

Snufkin laughed, setting the empty plate back on the tray. “I don’t think that’s how it works. I think it’s more like the universe telling me things at random times. I don’t get a say over it, it seems.”

“That’s still really cool!” Moomin picked up the journal in Snufkin’s lap, looking over what was written. “Have you had any yet?”

“I don’t think so, or at least not any that I particularly remember. But I’m feeling better than I did last night, so if everyone else is still up for the beach trip today, I still am.”

Moomin jumped off the bed, taking the tray of empty dishes. “I am! I’ll go tell the others and when they finish their breakfast, we can all head over!”

Snufkin slid out of the bed, wincing when a jolt went up his legs as he landed. But Moomin was already rushing out the door and definitely hadn’t seen, so not wanting to worry him once again, he shook it off, taking the spare clothes Moominmamma had provided for him.

  


  


By the time they had walked all the way to the beach, Snufkin’s legs were killing him. His knees and ankles ached like he’d tumbled the entire way down a hill, and every step he took sent jolts of pain up his legs. But falling behind would spike everyone’s worry again, so he forced himself to keep pace. When Moomin bee-lined to the water, and Snorkmaiden and Sniff headed to the jetty to hunt for shells, Snufkin sat down on their picnic blanket with a huff. Little My stepped in front of him, arms crossed and looking displeased.

“And what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Enjoying the sun.” Snufkin untied his laces, kicking off his boots. “What do you want, Little My?”

“I’m not dumb. You’re hurt. You’re pretty good at hiding it but I saw you limping.”

“I’m fine.”

Little My scowled and ruffled through her pockets, throwing a roll of bandages at him. “Fine. But wrap up, you dolt. It’ll help.” And with that, she turned heel and ran down to the jetty.

Snufkin sighed, but ripped off a chunk of the bandage roll before rolling up his pant legs and begin to wrap his knees. When he stood up, shifting on his feet, he found the tight wrapping putting pressure on his knees helped relieve some of the pain. Snufkin tossed his hat and jacket aside and headed down towards the waterline.

“Snufkin!” Moomin waved from where he was in the water, waist deep. “The water’s a little cold but it’s not too bad- oh! Your knees!”

“I promise it looks worse than it is!” Snufkin waded into the water, heading over to him. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad! It just keeps it from hurting too much.”

“Well, let me know if you need a break, we can go build a sand castle if it starts hurting too much.” Moomin took ahold of his arm and pulled him deeper into the water. Snufkin and splashed water at him with his free arm, and in retaliation, Moomin grabbed both of his shoulders and dunked him under the water.

Moomin had said the water wasn’t too cold, but it felt like ice prickling against his skin and freezing him inside out, encompassing and swallowing him whole. The ocean disappeared, and a blinding whiteness overtook it, replacing it, blank and disorienting. Snufkin swiveled around weightlessly, trying to make heads or tails of anything around him, but it was just empty, silent whiteness. He couldn’t tell what was his up and down from his left and right.

And then Moomin was grabbing his arms again, hauling him up. Snufkin resurfaced from the waves, coughing up water and gulping down air greedily. The water was no longer freezing around him, but his skin still prickled from the icy feeling just a second ago, shivering as he gripped Moomin’s shoulder tightly.

“Snufkin?!”

“Hold on, hold on-” Snufkin gasped, coughing hard enough to cough up a lung, wiping his eyes clear of salt water.

“Are you okay?!”

“I am now.” Snufkin cleared his throat, pressing a hand to his nose and pulling it away. There was thankfully only a little blood, so he scooped up a handful of water and splashed his face with it. “I think I had a foreboding.”

Moomin reached over and carefully wiped away the droplets of pinkish water left behind on his face. “You just went completely still under the water. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Snufkin shook his head, flinging water droplets out of his hair as he started walking back to the sand, Moomin right behind him. “I think I’m done swimming. But let me make it up to you. I’ll show you how to catch crabs.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What are you going to do with all those crabs?”

Snufkin jabbed one of the crabs back down into the bucket with a stick, stopping it from trying to climb out. “I’ll be giving them to my mom. It’ll make for a good treat for everyone.”

Moomin peered down into the bucket. “But you only have five?”

“You only need about five for a good soup.” Snufkin opened the front door, quickly moving out of the way as a handful of his younger sisters ran outside. He stepped inside after they passed, inviting Moomin inside as he walked to the kitchen.

Mymble smiled at them both, tying an apron around her waist. “Afternoon, boys. I was just about to start dinner.”

“We caught some crabs for you, Miss Mymble!” Moomin said cheerfully. “We went to the beach today and Snufkin showed us how!”

“How fun! Will you two be sticking around?”

Snufkin set the bucket on the counter for her. “I wanted to take a look at that chest, actually.”

“Go on ahead then. I’ll have one of the girls tell you when dinner is ready.” Mymble rolled up her sleeves, setting to work on cracking the crab shells open, and Moomin followed Snufkin as he headed upstairs.

One of the younger girls darted into the hallway when she heard Snufkin pull the rope for the attic ladder, latching onto his leg and looking up at him.

“Snufkin, are you here to play with us today?”

“Not today, but how about tomorrow or the next day? Moomin and I are going to explore the attic a bit.”

“Okay!” The girl let go, high fiving Moomin as she ran past back into the bedroom she had come from.

“Which one was that?” Moomin asked. “I can never tell them apart.”

“Either Sabina or Aniise. They’re twins, but they like to play switch up and make us guess.” Snufkin climbed up the ladder, opening the attic window to let in some of the last remaining light as Moomin climbed up after him.

“I’m pretty sure the entire horde plays switch up, Snufkin.”

“Surely you can tell a few apart. You know Mumble and Little My.”

Moomin sat down on the mattress, lighting the lantern sitting on one of the boxes, and Snufkin climbed back down from the windowsill.

“Yes, but Mumble is easy because she wears pants, and Little My would bite my tail if I didn’t recognize her from the rest.” Moomin set the lit lantern back on the box that served as its perch, illuminating some of the nooks and crannies that were still a bit shadowed. “You said there was a chest we were looking for.”

“Yes. My mom said my dad left a chest up here that might have something useful for my forebodings in it. It’s probably one of the ones covered in a sheet.”

Both of the boys began to poke around in the attic, investigating what they could find that matched the description Mymble had given them. The first two they had found were simply storing the winter coats and blankets Snufkin’s sisters had just put away for the winter, and another was bolts of fabric and a couple balls of yarn that were being stored in the attic until someone had a growth-spurt and needed some bigger clothing. When Snufkin paused to hang the lantern from the hook on the ceiling, to shed better light after the sun began to set, Moomin continued to poke around a particularly dusty corner, pulling off an old weathered sheet.

“Hey Snuff! Is this it?”

Snufkin hopped off the stool and headed over to Moomin, wiping some of the dust and cobwebs off of the chest lid. Faintly in the old leather, steadily aging and fading, Snufkin could see something etched into the lid. He tilted his head, running his thumb over the carving.

“I think so. This is mumrikar, and my written mumrikar is rusty, but I believe it says ‘Joxaren’.”

Snufkin moved his hands to the clasps keeping the chest shut, pushing them open, and began to lift the chest before he paused, hesitating.

Moomin peered over his shoulder. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, you can stay if you like. I just…”

Snufkin trailed off, frowning but didn’t step away from the chest or open it either. Knowing that meant Snufkin was trying to gather his thoughts before he spoke, Moomin sat down next to him, watching the dust motes in the air as he waited patiently.

“It just feels a little disrespectful is all, going through his things I mean. I wouldn’t want anyone to go through my stuff if I wasn’t around.”

“Well,” Moomin said slowly, considering what Snufkin seemed to be feeling- a mix of curiosity but hesitancy it seemed, but with trying to decipher Snufkin or his blocked off emotions, it was always a coin toss. “It’s not locked, which is something that usually means nothing too private, but then again, you hate locks and from papa’s stories, your dad probably did too. But you have your mom’s permission, and it’s not like you’re looking to snoop, you’re looking to see if he left anything helpful like he did that notebook, which is something I think would be understandable. But if you don’t want to, we can stop. We can see if papa has anything.”

Snufkin mulled it over in his head for a minute before he pushed the chest open and lifted the lid back against the wall the chest was tucked against. A cloud of dust dispersed into the air, tickling the back of his throat and Snufkin coughed, waving the dust away as he sat down to investigate the contents.

The first layer or two were just spare clothes, which is just about as much as Snufkin expected, sets that Joxter must have put away before leaving for winter and disappearing. Most of them were way too big, but at Moomin’s suggestion and encouragement, Snufkin tried on one of the smaller ones, a deep green one they found, knowing that the sleeves riding up on his own coat was only the first sign it was getting too small. It fit well enough, with just the sleeves having to be rolled up, but when they discovered hundreds of pinprick holes in the front of the jacket, compromising the fabric’s integrity, it was inevitably set aside with the rest.

Underneath the spare clothes was where the contents of the chest started to get interesting. There was a small corked bottle of black sand from a volcanic beach that fascinated Moomin, turning it this way and that under the light to see the shine of the tiny shells in the sand, a couple of rolled up maps, and an old story book with yellow pages full of all sorts of pressed flowers that even Snufkin hadn’t seen before, leaving him to try and translate the mumrikar scrawled on the pages, the names of the flowers and the far away places they had originated from. Wrapped up protectively in a sheet of cloth was a study hand telescope, like from Moomin’s pirate storybooks, and a small chunk of wood that had been painted a brilliant shade of blue, both presumably from the Ocean Oxtra that distracted both boys for a good while as they climbed to the attic windowsill to test the telescope.

“Do you think we could see those tropical jungles from here with this?” Moomin leaned his chest against the windowsill, surveying as far into the forests around Moomin Valley as he could without dropping it. “What were they called again?”

“The Amazonia. I don’t think so, there was mentions of a ship. If he had to get on a ship, it’s most likely across the ocean.”

“You’re probably right. Maybe we can sail there ourselves one day and see them.” Moomin handed Snufkin the telescope before climbing back down from the windowsill. “Growing the tropical jungle around our house last summer was so much fun. I wonder what a real jungle is like.”

Snufkin carefully wrapped the telescope back up and set it aside where it wouldn’t get crushed. “We should see if Moominmamma has any of those seeds left. I enjoyed the fruit.”

“What else is in the chest?” Moomin leaned back over the side of the chest, beginning to pull a large black case out of it. “Oh, what’s this?”

Something wiggled anxiously in the back of Snufkin’s head, like he was forgetting something. Then, as Moomin set the case on the floor and went to open it, something clicked into place. Faintly, like from somewhere far away, Snufkin felt like he was wrapped up somewhere warm, the smell of tobacco smoke and the stale smell of campfire smoke that had sunk deep into clothing wrapped around him like a blanket, accompanied by the sound of strings humming and a deep, grumbly purring.

Snufkin leapt up. “Be careful with her!”

Moomin paused, shooting Snufkin a curious glance. “Her?”

“Charlotte. The guitar.” Snufkin untied the case and pushed the lid open. Sure enough, an old but well loved guitar rested inside, a bit dulled with age and misuse, but nothing that Snufkin was sure a bit of instrument resin wouldn’t fix.

“Oh! The guitar has a name?”

“Any musician worth their salt names their instrument.” Snufkin gingerly picked the guitar up, resting his fingers on the claw-nicked neck and tested the strings. It created a foul, offkey sour note that made Moomin cringe, but Snufkin beamed brightly at the sound.

“Fresh tuned strings and some resin, and she’ll be like new!” Snufkin set the guitar back in the case, tying it securely and propping it up against the wall.

“Does your harmonica have a name then?”

“Harold.”

“Harold?!”

Snufkin laughed, digging through the chest again and pulling out a stack of old papers. “”It was the first name that came to mind when I was given it.”

“I almost feel sorry for the poor thing! Harold!” Moomin shook his head and laughed, pulling out a worn leather notebook from the chest and beginning to flip through it. “What did you find? I think this is just a sketchbook.”

“Letters.” Snufkin glanced through the contents of the pages. “From my mom, and all dated in winter. They must’ve exchanged letters when she couldn’t hibernate.”

“Oh, like your Autumn letters!”

“Pretty much. It’s all just talk of what’s going on in the valley or what my sisters were getting up to and questions about things he must’ve written about to her.” Snufkin flipped through the pages, skimming what was written until he paused, two thirds down into the stack. The paper became suddenly much older, grey with age instead of yellowed, and Mymble’s elegant cursive was gone, replaced with messy scrawling.

Moomin poked up from the sketchbook again. “Find something good?”

“These are from someone else. They’re much older. And they’re not signed.” Snufkin picked one of the yellowed letters from his mother up, comparing the two side by side. “They begin differently too. Mom addressed his as ‘Joxie’ but this person is calling him ‘Jox’.”

Moomin set the sketchbook down and scooted over, peering over Snufkin’s shoulder. He picked a random paragraph on the page, beginning to read it aloud.

“Sometimes I remember the little things though, like the knack you had of getting daisies stuck in your hair when you chose to nap in the sun, and I wonder, have we made the right decision, or am I looking into the past with rose colored glasses? I know you’re happy now, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, but I also find that sometimes my heart falls easily back into the same beat it used to back then. I know you’ve already promised so, but don’t leave the valley for good. Even after getting married soon in a few weeks, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from following you on the next adventure-”

“We shouldn’t be reading these,” Snufkin interrupted, turning the paper over so Moomin couldn’t read the rest. Hearing Moomin say such things, even if it wasn’t his own words, was doing something funny to Snufkin’s heart, wrapping it tightly in sharp brambles. “These are love letters.”

“Aw, but it’s interesting! Maybe your dad was a spy and had a secret life and a secret lover! Like in books!”

“All the more not to read it then. And I don’t want to read them. I wouldn’t want anyone reading our Autumn letters, no matter how old they are.”

“But our Autumn letters aren’t nearly as interesting. And they aren’t romantic.”

Snufkin turned away from Moomin, gathering the letters into a stack and putting them away as an excuse not to look at him, his heart suddenly lodged in his throat. “Still. They’re still private.”

A slow horror dawned on Snufkin, and he turned back around to face Moomin. “You haven’t been sharing them, have you? Please tell me you haven’t been sharing them!”

He’d never hear the end of it from Little My. And Mumble wouldn’t be much help either. They knew him too well as his older sisters, they’d know the differences between the letters he wrote to them and the letters he wrote for Moomin, and he’d never hear the end of it.

“Only the parts you said were okay to tell! I suppose you’re right, letters don’t have to be romantic to be private.” Moomin picked the sketchbook back up. “Well, I did find something interesting in this.”

“What is it?”

“A dream journal, I think. But I thought the baby photos were more interesting.” Moomin grinned teasingly, holding up one of the photos.

Snufkin felt the tips of his ears burn and he leaned forward, trying to snag the photo out of Moomin’s hand. “Hey! Give me those!”

“No way, this is payback for the marshmallow comments when you saw mine!” Moomin held the photo out of reach, laughing. “You were such a cute baby, Snufkin! I like the one where you got caught in the curtains.”

“Moomin!”

“Or this one where you’re bundled up inside your dad’s coat- oof!” Moomin tumbled over when Snufkin pushed him lightly, pulling the photos out of his hand. Snufkin sent a playful scowl at him, glancing down at the photos in his hands and his expression softened slightly. It was a photo of his dad that someone had taken of him unaware, a small child asleep in the inside of his coat but still tightly gripping to the fabric.

“Well, that explains the holes in that coat.”

The attic door opened, and one of Snufkin’s younger sisters poked her head in.

“Um! Mama said dinner was ready and that Moomin is invited to stay.”

“We’ll be right down! We just have to clean up first.” Snufkin set the sketchbook aside next to the guitar, and began to put some of the items they had found away in the chest. 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to stay for dinner, I’m rather hungry.”

“Sounds good to me, but it’s going to be pretty chaotic. There’s a reason why it took me so long to break my habit of eating in the kitchen rather than at the table.”

“Oh, you dropped something.” Moomin picked up a necklace that had been left out, passing it to Snufkin, who lifted it up to study it.

“It’s a shark tooth.”

“It must’ve fallen out of one of the pockets.”

Snufkin untied the knot on the string, wrapping it around his neck before tying it in place.

“Looks great!” Moomin smiled at him before heading down the ladder, and Snufkin squeezed the tooth in his hand before following him down, but he paused, just as he put his foot on the top rung. Something was tingling in the back of his head, like when he had the foreboding earlier in the day, an impending sense of doom nagging incessantly like an annoying gnat. Slowly, Snufkin lifted his eyes to look out the attic window, to Lonely Mountain.

The sense of doom got a little louder, buzzing around his head. Snufkin forced himself to look away from the window and look below the ladder to Moomin, who was holding it steady for him.

“Moomin?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you stay the night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't supposed to be nearly 3000 words but something happened


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one shot fic was added to this series about Mumble and Too Ticki, so you may need to go back and read that if you missed it. nothing too important, just some context about how too ticki and mumble started dating
> 
> i never got the chance to specify in text but snufkin chose to have a "bedroom" in the attic to have a place where he can escape his sisters.

_Snow covered Lonely Mountain like a thick blanket. The echo of thunderous roaring rang in Snufkin’s ears, but the world was silent and perfectly still around him. But the trees were gone, a few uprooted trunks and branches stuck in the still settling snow._

_Normally Lonely Mountain filled Snufkin with a sense of peace. Its forests were teeming with wildlife, and it was easy to just step off its trails and wander the surrounding forests, lose one’s self for a while. It was a solitude that he slipped into when he needed a day or two to himself, away from everyone else._

_But standing amongst the loose, settling snow, thunderous booming echoes in his ears, Snufkin was filled with nothing but dread._

  


“Snufkin.”

Snufkin lifted his head, blinking in the lantern light. Moomin let go of his shoulder, shifting away as Snufkin sat up, the back of his head throbbed with doomdoomdoom.

“Your mom says you’ve got to come downstairs, even if you’re just going to sleep on one of the couches. It’s too cold up here.”

“It feels like it’s still winter.” Snufkin pushed the quilt off and stood up, shivering when the cold air hit him full force.

“I’ll get you some coffee.” Moomin headed back downstairs, so Snufkin changed out of his night clothes before leaving the attic. 

The upstairs bedrooms were also quite cold, blankets shoved onto the windowsills, to block the cracks and keep warm air in. But the downstairs floor was warm as Snufkin headed down the stairs. The fireplace was roaring, and the oven was on as well, the door open to let the heat escape and warm the kitchen and dining room. A multitude of his sisters were scattered about in the living room, wrapped in large blankets while reading or participating in a few calm activities as his mother sat in her rocking chair by the front window, holding a hot mug in both hands.

The front door opened and Paisley, one of his older sisters, trooped in, dusting snow off her shoulders.

“The ground’s frozen over, mama, but I was able to dig up the onions we planted yesterday!” Paisley shucked off her jacket and hung it on the coat rack, heading into the kitchen with her basket of onions.

“So much for planting the potatoes then,” Mymble sighed.

“What?” Snufkin asked.

“It was a false spring.” Moomin passed Snufkin a cup of plain coffee. “It froze last night. And snowed.”

Snufkin set the mug down on the counter, immediately going to the front door and throwing it open. A snowy version of Moomin Valley greeted him, snow easily up to his knees. The tops of trees and bushes were glazed with glittering frost, save for Mymble’s garden that had been dug up and the fresh flowers salvaged as best as they could be. A peaceful silence had settled over the valley, but images of Lonely Mountain and decimated trees flashed over it in his head.

Snufkin lifted his gaze to Lonely Mountain, but it was calm, undisturbed, pearly white and dotted green with its forests.

“Come back inside, Snufkin. You’re going to freeze,” Mymble called. Snufkin quickly turned and stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind him.

“When you go outside today, make sure you bundle up dear. You don’t want to catch Winter’s Fever.” Mymble set her mug aside, standing up. “Mumble left a few jackets behind when she moved out with Too Ticki. There’s probably something wintery you can use.”

“Thank you.” Snufkin sat down at the counter, picking up his coffee again and blowing on it to cool it.

“Does the attic always get that cold? Even with my fur, it was super chilly.” Moomin sat down on one of the stools next to him.

“In the winter I suppose, but normally I’m gone for the winter. If the frost lasts and I stay tonight, I’ll have to sleep downstairs.”

“Here we are.” Mymble came back downstairs, holding up a thick grey jacket with violets embroidered on the collar and the sleeves. “She used a wool lining for this, so you can slide it over your other one and it should be plenty warm.”

Snufkin slid off the stool, taking the jacket. “Thank you.”

“And make sure you tuck your tail around your waist, so it doesn’t freeze.”

“I will.”

“And keep your ears covered! And-”

“Mom,” Snufkin interrupted. Mymble stopped, smiling sheepishly at him before ruffling his hair.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just worry.” Mymble turned, clapping her hands together. “Girls! Time to get dressed. We better defrost the apple tree before the sun shines on it or it’ll get frostbite.”

Snufkin finished the rest of his coffee before pulling on the jacket. “Cmon, Moomin. We better dismantle my camp. My tent won’t hold long in the snow.”

“Right!” Moomin slid off his stool, setting both of their empty mugs next to the wash basin. Snufkin grabbed the guitar case they had found the night before, and they two headed out to Snufkin’s camp, Moomin trampling a bath down in the snow and Snufkin following in his wake.

Snow had piled on his tent, the canvas sagging a bit in the middle from the weight. Moomin quickly set to work dusting off the snow as Snufkin slipped inside, folding up his bedroll and bringing his backpack out of the tent.

Moomin pulled out the tent pikes, dropping them into his backpack, before helping Snufkin dismantle the poles and fold them away. 

“Would Moominmama mind if I joined you all for lunch? I doubt my mom will be pleased if I stay outside for so long.” Snufkin picked up one side of the tent canvas, and Moomin picked up the other, helping him fold it.

“Of course not! I wanted to offer, I just didn’t know if you’d need some time for yourself. You can stay the night too if you’d like.”

Snufkin set his folded tent away in his bag before tying it up tightly and picking it up by the straps. “I think I’ll take you up on that, then. Shall we head over?”

Moomin eagerly grabbed Snufkin’s free hand, pulling him along as he ran to Moominhouse. Snorkmaiden, My, and Sniff were already inside, enjoying cups of hot cocoa around the table, but when Snufkin and Moomin arrived, they all abandoned their spots and empty mugs in favor of heading to the Everything Room to confiscate the board games. Snufkin tucked his backpack and the guitar case into Moominpapa’s study before following the group into Moomin’s bedroom.

“I vote for Monopoly!” Sniff thrust the board game into the air excitedly, waving it over his head.

“You always want to play Monopoly,” Snorkmaiden complained. “And Little My steals from the bank. Let’s play something different!”

Snufkin sat down in his usual place on the windowsill. “I’m with Snorkmaiden on this one.”

“Thank you-” Snorkmaiden began, but Snufkin continued with a grin.

“It pushes the capitalist agenda and the idea of private property-”

My threw a pillow at him from her perch on Moomin’s bed, causing Snufkin to laugh and duck his head. “Shut up! You cheat at Monopoly too!”

Moomin pulled an easel out of his closet, along with a large pad of paper. “How about pictionary? I got new ink.”

“I’ll shuffle the cards, then! Moomin, you can go first.” Snorkmaiden untied the deck of cards, shuffling them up nicely before passing him the deck. As Moomin drew a card and picked up a pen, Snufkin settled into his spot, leaning against the wall.

“It’s a tree!” Little My yelled.

Moomin turned to her, planting his hands on his waist. “My! We haven’t even started yet!” With a huff, he turned back to the easel and began drawing. Snorkmaiden giggled, setting the rest of the shuffled deck on Moomin’s nightstand. Snufkin chuckled, rubbing out the twinges in his wrists. As Moomin continued to draw, Little My started a tirade of random guesses.

“It’s a parrot,” Snufkin interrupted. 

Moomin set the pen down on the tray, ripping off the paper. “Yeah, your turn. Little My, can you at least try to play correctly?”

“No!”

Snufkin picked up a card from the deck, selecting a pen.

‘Scar’. Easy enough.

Snufkin gripped the pen, wincing slightly at the twinge of pain that shot up his arm, but ignored it, setting about beginning his drawing.

“Hand!” Sniff guessed.

“Yes, but no. Something to do with a hand.” Snufkin shook out his wrist before continuing.

“Are you alright?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“My wrists just hurt a bit.”

Moomin pulled a blanket off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders and getting himself cozy. “He’s getting forebodings now, like his dad!”

“Wait, that was real? I thought that was fake?”

“So did I.” Snufkin finished the drawing, making an arrow to the squiggly scar line he drew on the hand. “There we go.”

“Is it a worm?” Moomin asked.

“So you can tell us what’s going to happen?” Sniff grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Am I gonna get rich?”

Snufkin sent him a withering look. “That’s not how it works. It’s just flashes and hints”

“It’s a scar,” Snorkmaiden decided. “And- have you tried deciphering them? There’s a variety of ways you can probably try.”

“It’s a scar.” Snufkin lifted his hand, pointing to the similar scar on his palm. “And I was going to try and figure them out later, it can wait.”

“Oh, but this sounds so much more fun though!” Snorkmaiden jumped up, shoving her blankets aside. “We should try scrying! That’s what I did when I could see the future! I don’t have my crystal ball obviously but we can try it another way!”

“Right now?”

“Snorkmaiden’s right! This sounds much more fun!” Little My leapt down from the bed and the two girls rushed out of the bedroom, Sniff following behind them. Snufkin looked to Moomin, who just simply shrugged.”

“Alright. Guess we’re doing this now.” Snufkin removed the pens and the pad of paper from the tray so Moomin could fold the easel away before they headed downstairs.

Moominmama stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron as Snorkmaiden set a bowl of water on the table. “Back downstairs already? Did you need snacks?”

“Snorkmaiden wants Snufkin to try scrying to decipher his forebodings.” Moomin sat down at the table and Snufkin sat down next to him, pulling the bowl of water towards himself.

“How fun. Let me know what you discover.” Moominmama set down a plate of cookies before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“And what am I doing with this?” Snufkin asked.

Snorkmaiden sat down on the other side of Snufkin as Sniff and Little My sat down next to the plate of cookies Moominmama left for them.

“Just stare into the bowl until you see something,” Snorkmaiden instructed. “It’ll take a minute or two, but you should see something in the water.”

Snufkin looked up to her, raising an eyebrow.

Snorkmaiden huffed. “It works! A crystal ball works better but water works just as well.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sniff asked through a mouthful of cookies. “What if he sees something bad?”

“Well, then he sees something bad,” Moomin said.

“But what if he sees something, like, really bad?”

“Shush!” Snorkmaiden hissed. “He needs to concentrate.”

My laughed, snatching the last cookie while Sniff wasn’t paying attention. “If he can concentrate with Moomin going on and on and on while he’s fishing, he can concentrate on this.”

Snufkin tuned them out, staring into the water bowl. It seemed like there was still a little bit of cooking oil residue in the bowl, little yellow bubbles swirling around in the water. It was an interesting pattern to watch, but if he was supposed to be seeing something in the water, he wasn’t seeing much more than his own reflection.

“This isn’t working,” Snufkin announced.

Snorkmaiden sighed, resting her chin on her hands. “Try a little harder, Snufkin.”

“It’s not working.” 

Moomin pushed the bowl away so it wouldn’t topple over the edge of the table. “Well, what about your cards? You use them for a lot of other things.”

“I’ll get them!” Little My jumped off the table and scampered away.

“Well, it was worth a try I suppose.” Snorkmaiden shook her head with a sigh. “It always works for me.”

“Well, then maybe my cards will work for me since I use them all the time.” Snufkin took the cards from My as she came barreling back down the stairs, carefully shuffling them together.

Snufkin spread the cards face down on the table after he finished shuffling them, carefully selecting three and flipping them over.

Well. That’s not good.

Moomin leaned over, peering at the cards excitedly. “Well?”

“It’s not good, that’s for sure.” Snufkin picked all the cards back up, shuffling them all again. “But it’s not saying anything directly, not that they usually do…”

“Any luck?” Moominmama came back to the table, cleaning up the empty plate and the bowl of water.

“Not particularly,” Moomin sighed.

“Snufkin dear, would you mind if I tried something?”

Snufkin pushed his chair away from the table. “Sure.”

Moominmama nodded, taking away the dirty dishes to the kitchen and returning with a piece of paper and a pen. She set them down on the table before turning to Snufkin placing her hands on either side of his head.

“Hold still, dear.”

She jerked Snufkin’s head to the right in a single swift movement, the resulting audible pop making everyone else at the table cringe. But the tension Snufkin had forgotten about at the base of his neck and the back of his head melted away. Moominmamma let go of him and stepped back.

Snufkin tilted his head from side to side, stretching out the muscles in his neck. “Huh. That actually helped.”

“And now your hands dear, like so..” Moominmamma helped Snufkin crack the joints in his hands before pulling the pen and paper back over.

“Alright, and what am I doing with this?” Snufkin picked up the pen.

“Your father tried this sometimes with particularly stubborn forebodings.” Moominmamma wrapped her hands around Snufkin’s, holding it over the paper. “Close your eyes and move then pen. I’ll hold it steady for you.”

Snufkin hesitantly closed his eyes and Moominmamma lowered their hands to the paper. Snufkin tried to focus on the little glimpses he had seen- the broken forest of Lonely Mountain, and the confusing white scenery- and began to slowly move the pen along the paper.

“What is that supposed to be?” Moomin asked.

“Hush now, dear. Let him finish.” Moominmamma gently chided.

“I think I’m done,” Snufkin said, pulling his hand away and opened his eyes. “My mind’s really blank.”

Moominmamma smiled, setting the pen aside. “The first couple times must be a little weird, I’m sure, but here we are.” She gently pushed the paper to Snufkin.

Moomin leaned over to peer over Snufkin’s shoulder. “Is that Lonely Mountain? What’s the big black spot?”

“Let Snufkin mull it over and try to figure it out. I’m sure you’ll figure out what it is, you’re a remarkably resourceful boy.” Moominmamma stood up again, dropping the pen in her apron pocket. “Now, I made some pumpkin soup for lunch, if everyone’s ready.”

The others got up in a clatter, to set the table and get lunch set up, and Snufkin looked back down to the paper, a feeling of anxiety settling into his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mumrik-specific illnesses I came up with:  
> Winter's Fever- the reason why Joxter and Snufkin travel in the winter. Mumriks are warm-climate creatures and are particularly susceptible to the cold. Like a cross between pneumonia and hypothermia, the mumrik looses ability to regulate body heat and has high fevers, and left untreated can lead to death. However, unlike pneumonia and hypothermia, mumriks can succumb to Winter's Fever at higher temperatures. This is why Mymble shows (perhaps unnecessary) concern about Snufkin going out than his sisters- he's more likely to fall dangerously ill from the cold than his siblings.
> 
> Staying Sickness- just like mumriks are warm-climate creatures, mumriks are wandering creatures. Staying in one place for too long by force (or by choice) can lead to serious health complications. Minor warning signs are inability to focus, possible maladaptive daydreaming, possible emotional regulation issues, and social withdrawal. Major signs are lack of appetite and dehydration, and lack of interest in anything. If a mumrik is showing any signs of these, they really ought to set loose to travel immediately, but if a mumrik is at the point of having a lack of appetite, they needed to be accompanied or monitered, as once they start travelling again, they may forget to take care of themselves and risk dying of exhaustion.
> 
> That being said, Snufkin IS NOT going to get sick, it's just that these illnesses are mentioned in passing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided that Too Ticki is 1/4th mumrik so she knows some stuff. Don't ask me about the other 3/4th.

_He’s digging in the snow._

_The thunderous roaring echoed off in Snufkin’s ears, the snow just beginning to settle around him. The wind is freezing and he’s not properly dressed for the snow, his fingers completely numb like they’re frozen solid. Overshadowing him, a few paces away, is a lone, twisted gnarled tree, the only survivor amongst the destruction of torn branches and uprooted plants._

__

_Snufkin should be doing anything other than digging in the snow. Anything to keep warm, to keep himself from falling ill with Winter’s Fever or worse- finding shelter, getting a fire going- but he continued to dig into the snow in a panic._

_Something grabbed his hand._

  


Snufkin bolted up out of his bedroll, eyes darting around the room. The bedroom was still, undisturbed, Sniff asleep in his own bundle of blankets, but Moomin’s bed was empty, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the window and gently resting on the discarded blankets.

The brambles squeezed around his heart.

Snufkin slipped out of his bedroll, stepping out of the bedroom and padding silently down the hall. Little My and Snorkmaiden were asleep in their own bedroom, undisturbed, as well as Moominpappa and Moominmamma. Snufkin turned on his heels and quickly darted downstairs.

“Moomin?”

Perhaps he was downstairs, getting ready for breakfast, Snufkin tried to rationalize. He always needed a few minutes to really wake up before he got hungry, but usually Moomin was ready to eat the moment he was out of bed. But Moomin wasn’t downstairs either, in the kitchen or out on the veranda.

Moomin’s scarf, previously wrapped on the coat rack, was gone, and as Snufkin poked around, investigating, more turned up as missing. Moominpappa’s adventuring gear was gone, a new empty jar of jam next to the washing basin with a jam knife.

Slowly, Snufkin stepped to the front door, opening it and looking up to Lonely Mountain.

The previous day, Lonely Mountain had been blanketed in white, dotted with its green forests, and utterly peaceful. But now an ugly gray gash marred the scene, a new cliff ripping through the snow and forests, snow and ripped forests piled around in a violent mess.

Snufkin leapt off the porchway in a panic, darting between snow banks as he ran through Moomin Valley.

The forests at the base of Lonely Mountain were damaged, the trunks of trees battered with the remains of the avalanche, snow piled up to Snufkin’s knees, forcing him to slow his pace and wade through the loose snow.

“Moomin!” Snufkin shouted, but there was no response, just his own voice echoing off the cliffs.

As soon as he reached an exposed path, Snufkin broke into a run along the destroyed landscape, desperately searching for any sign of Moomin in the devastation.

Moomin could have been anywhere in the snow, Snufkin thought hysterically. He could probably step on Moomin and be none the wiser. He didn’t even really have a way of even knowing if Moomin was even on Lonely Mountain, and Snufkin hesitated and slowed. He could have gone to the Snork’s, or Alicia’s or Mr. Hemulen’s, and Snufkin would freeze to death on Lonely Mountain, the cause of his own damned forebodings. Already, his fingers had long gone numb.

Snufkin passed a particularly gnarled tree and he stopped in his tracks, looking up to it. The tree stood alone, the surrounding ones having been ripped out and torn away in the snow.

Snufkin stood at the base of the tree and took seven steps away from it, dropping to the ground and pressing his ear to the snow.

He could hear.. Something, something like wind, like a hidden cave or air cavity rested beneath the snow, and something else moving inside.

Snufkin sat up, frantically beginning to dig away the snow with his hands. The thing in the air cavity below him began to move beneath him, displacing the snow, like it had registered Snufkin’s movements, and as he shoveled the snow away, a fuzzy white arm burst through the snow, grabbing his wrist. Snufkin jumped up, taking the paw in both of his own and pulled, and Moomin burst through the snow.

“Moomin!”

“Snufkin!” Moomin climbed out of the hole, dragging a backpack out before hugging Snufkin tightly. “What are you doing here? You don’t even have your boots on, you’re going to get sick!”

“The wind’s picking up, there’s a cave nearby we can hide in.” Snufkin grabbed Moomin’s paw, leading him through the snow back to the trail, following it just a bit further up the mountainside. The trail curved just past a small cave Snufkin had inhabited once or twice when climbing the mountain, hollowed into the rock and unattached from the other cave systems. He usually kept a spare stash of dry wood near the back, if he hadn’t forgotten to replace it the last time, for emergencies and bad weather, that should have been far enough into the cave to avoid getting soaked by the snow.

Snufkin stepped into the cave, shaking the snow off his shoulders as he padded to the back of the cave and sure enough, the wood was there. Snufkin gathered an armful and began to arrange it for a fire towards the back of the cave, to try and keep the head as insulated in as he could. Moomin procured a piece of flint and a large quilt from his backpack, and with a spark, the dry wood ignited easily, lighting up the cave around them.

“What were you doing up here anyways? In your pajamas no less.” Moomin sat down next to the fire, passing the quilt to Snufkin. “Isn’t the cold really bad for you?”

“It is. But you were just gone, and with my forebodings, I got worried.” Snufkin wrapped the quilt tightly around himself, burying himself into the fabric to try and warm up. “I had forebodings. What were you doing up here?”

Moomin twirled the tuft at the end of his tail nervously. “Well, you seemed really stiff and tense all the time. I wanted to see if I could go fix whatever was wrong so you wouldn’t have forebodings anymore.”

“Please warn me next time, then. Or we can go together. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Moomin said quietly.

Snufkin held one side of the blanket open, and Moomin ducked underneath it to keep warm. He curled up into Moomin’s fur, clenching his fingers to try and regain some feeling in them once again.

“Do you think anyone’s noticed we’re gone by now?” Moomin asked.

Snufkin shrugged slightly. “The sun was rising when I woke up. It’s an hour’s hike from the town to the base of Lonely Mountain, not to mention the time it took us to find each other and then get to the cave. Surely everyone’s up by now.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t snow too much more than, or they might not be able to find us- Snufkin, you’re really cold.” Moomin squirmed slightly, away from Snufkin’s cold skin. “Like, really cold. That can’t be good”

“I know. I’m trying to warm up. Don’t let me fall asleep.”

Moomin shifted again, and Snufkin lifted his head blearily, shaking his head to try and wake himself up a bit more.

The fire continued to burn down slowly, as Snufkin and Moomin added a few pieces here and there to keep it going. The snow began to gently fall once again, thankfully remaining light and not too much to risk becoming snowed in. The fire and blanket combined kept the both of them relatively warm, but as their conversations turned to idle talk and then to silence, and sleep slowly became harder to ward off, Snufkin began to feel uneasy. There was no telling how much time had passed, and if the snow, at any point of time, decided to fall heavier, there’d be no telling how long it would take for them to be found.

Moomin suddenly sat up straight, jostling Snufkin into a more awake state. “Snufkin, do you hear bells?”

“Bells…?” Snufkin sat up, rubbing his eyes and straining his ears. Distantly, he could hear something like sleigh bells on the wind, faint yet clear, like the sound was bouncing off the cliffs.

“Didn’t you say Too Ticki has a winter sleigh?”

“Oh yeah!” Moomin perked up. “She uses it in the winter since it’s easier in the snow than using her wagon, and she gives out sleigh rides. She’s got a pretty holiday harness for her horse that has these silver little bells…” He leapt up, running to the mouth of the cave. “It must be her! Too Ticki!”

Snufkin scooped a handful of snow onto the fire, effectively dousing it as he picked the blanket up and followed Moomin to the mouth of the cave.

The sound of bells grew louder and, coming up the trail, Too Ticki’s sleigh appeared, coming along the trail. Mumble was leaned carefully along the back of the sleigh, scouting the area as Too Ticki carefully led her house across the terrain.

“Too Ticki! Mumble!” Moomin shouted again, and when Mumble snapped her head to them, Snufkin raised his hand and waved.

Carefully pulling the sleigh off the trail, Too Ticki came to a stop as close to the cave as she could, and Mumble leapt off, running towards them and crushing the both of them into a huge hug.

“You two are going to be the death of your mothers,” Mumble scolded, letting go of them and pushing Snufkin’s forehead to her cheek. “You’re running a fever. Get in.”

Moomin tossed his backpack into the floor of the sleigh, climbing in and helping Snufkin settle in. Mumble climbed onto the driver’s bench next to Too Ticki, who slapped the reins, and the horse took off, taking them back down the mountain.

Mumble leaned over the back of the bench, handing both of the boys heated rice bags to warm their hands up with. “What were you two boys thinking?! It’s dangerous to go up Lonely Mountain in the snow, much less alone! Snufkin, our mother was in hysterics when we told her! Nobody knew where you went!”

“I had forebodings,” Snufkin said quietly, and Mumble sighed, falling silent.

“Warn someone next time,” Too Ticki suggested. “Or leave a note, if it’s urgent.”

The sleigh ran easily over the snow through the forest, and it felt like no time at all until they were back into the valley, approaching Moominhouse at the farthest edge of the town. As they pulled to a stop outside, Mymble rushed out of the house, closely followed by Moominmamma and Moominpappa. As Snufkin slid out of the sleigh, Mymble scooped him up into a crushing hug before letting go again, gently brushing his bangs out of his face.

“Would it kill you to be a little less like your father?” she asked. Snufkin chuckled weakly, and Mymble gave him a small smile, kissing his forehead.

Too Ticki slid off the driver’s bench, helping Mumble step down. “He’s got symptoms of Winter’s Fever, ma’am, we’ve got to get him isolated so it doesn’t spread. I’ll run and get the doctor.”

“It’d be good for Moomin to get a checkup as well,” Moominmamma agreed, ushering Moomin inside. “The guest room is unoccupied, Moomin, to your bedroom.”

Mymble pushed Snufkin inside and up to the guest room as Too Ticki took off again back towards the town, and before he disappeared into his bedroom, Moomin turned in the doorway and smiled to Snufkin.

“Started off sick and ending it being sick,” he joked, “Why didn’t your forebodings say anything about that?”

Snufkin laughed as Mymble urged him into the guest room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fellas is it gay to run in 30 degree weather in literal pajamas when the cold will literally kill you to rescue a bro, asking for a friend


	6. Chapter 6

“Looks like everything will be alright. A little minor frostbite and a small fever, but considering the alternatives, you’re very lucky.” The doctor zipped up her bag, standing up. “I’d suggest not walking until you regain feeling in your paw pads however, and when you’re done soaking them, remember to wrap them up for the next day or two. And remember, warm water, not hot.”

“Is Moomin okay?” Snufkin asked.

The doctor smiled. “He’s got a bit of a fever as well, but like I said, considering the alternatives, you two got off real lucky. A day or two inside and you both will be just fine. Rest well now.” The doctor tipped her hat before leaving the guest room.

Mymble leaned over, kissing Snufkin’s forehead. “Just for a day, alright? The frost is already melting anyways, you should be able to set up your camp by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know, I know.” Snufkin pulled one of his feet out of the water basin, gently prodding one of the pads on his toes to see if it had regained feeling. “I’ll be alright, mom.”

“I’ll see if Moominmamma has something for your fever, alright?” Mymble stood up, and Snufkin shifted on the bed so he could like down on his side while still resting his feet in the water.

“Did the doctor say if it was alright for me to sleep now?”

“You’re out of the snow now, so it should be alright. Use the quilt. I’ll be right back.” Mymble ruffled his hair and left the guest room.

Snufkin shifted again, pulling the corner of the quilt over his shoulders before closing his eyes.

  


  


_There was a man sitting next to him by the river. He was fuzzy and soft at the edges, like an old woolen coat, as if he’d been pulled from the deepest recesses of Snufkin’s mind, an old faded memory. Bits and pieces of the man were gone, faded away with time, and replaced with other things that were familiar to Snufkin. The man’s hands looked like Snufkin’s own, but something about the brown fur struck the wrong chord. The man’s coat was certainly the right shape, but the color had faded away, replaced with the after images of crashing waves and bubbling sea foam reflected onto the fabric. But when the man turned to face Snufkin, his face was completely distorted, gone, a long forgotten memory._

_Snufkin stuck his bare feet into the river, the water trickling past calm and cool. The faceless man said nothing to him, but didn’t move away either._

_“Are you here to give me advice?” Snufkin asked._

_The faceless man hummed, and the sound echoed through the meadow, grumbly and deep but pleasant and neutral._

__

_“Is that what you want?”_

__

_Snufkin fell silent, and so did the faceless man, both of them enjoying the sound of the rushing river. Then the man shifted, lifted one hand and rested his hand on Snufkin’s head, ruffling his hair. But the touch wasn’t repulsive or overbearing like touch normally was to Snufkin, but rather familiar, oddly comforting, even mindful to avoid knocking the small horns hidden by his hair at the top of his forehead._

____

_“You’ve done well with your forebodings, Snufkin. You handled it very well, even if you gave everyone a scare. I’m very proud of you.”_

____

_“How can you be? You’re a figment of my imagination. I’m dreaming.”_

____

_The man smiled, not with his distorted face, but Snufkin could tell he was smiling by the tilt of his head, the way the man’s shoulders curled up slightly and his tail flicking mischievously._

____

_“Perhaps I am, but even so, one can hide so many things so far deep into their own consciousness. You’re deserving of a little self pride.”_

____

_“I know you.”_

____

_“Perhaps you do, perhaps you don’t. You’re filling the gaps in your memory with the things that others have told you, but somewhere there must be a version of me you know.”_

____

_“Who are you?”_

____

_The faceless man’s body curled into a smile once again, but it seemed somewhat sadder._

____

_“Don’t think about it too hard, kid. It doesn’t matter.” The faceless man lifted a hand and gently tapped the scar on Snufkin’s forehead, a twisted one he had gained as a child and normally hid with his bangs._

____

_“Snufkin!” Moomin called, and Snufkin turned to search for him, but even though the voice was as clear as day, loud enough to suggest Moomin was at least on the bridge, if not next to him, Moomintroll was far away, leaning out his bedroom window in Moominhouse and waving to him. Snufkin raised a hand and waved back._

____

_“You care for him,” the faceless man hummed._

____

_“Of course. He’s my best friend.”_

____

_“Only so?”_

____

_“I’m not required to tell you.”_

____

_“What is there to tell if I already know?” The faceless man tilted his head inquisitively. “You said it yourself, I’m a figment of your imagination. A filler face. You’re only dreaming.”_

____

_“I know that. Just…”_

____

_“Just?”_

____

_“One doesn’t say it.”_

____

_The faceless man didn’t say anything at that, still observing him. A new sort of nervous energy filled Snufkin, a new desperation to fill the silence, even though silence was usually what he wished for._

____

_“Besides,” Snufkin rationalized. “He’s dating Snorkmaiden. And trolls like to settle down and build houses and what not. I can’t sacrifice my lifestyle. I won’t.”_

____

_“Is it really a compromise when one already spends three seasons of the year here in Moomin Valley?”_

____

_Snufkin knew it wasn’t supposed to be a jab, but it certainly felt like one._

____

_“Sometimes you find people who make you feel as if you’re compromising anything at all,” the faceless man continued to muse. “I know how you feel. I felt like that too, when I was younger. It was scary, but nothing felt like a compromise when it came to her.”_

____

_The faceless man leaned over to Snufkin and ruffled his hair again. “Tell me, Snusmumriken. When it comes time for you to choose, what path will you take?”_

____

_Snufkin spun his head to look at him, but the faceless man was gone, not even an impression left in the grass where he had been sitting, even though the man’s voice still echoed in the air._

____

_Snufkin turned to look back to the river, but it was gone. He was no longer in Moomin Valley, but on the highest peak of Lonely Mountain, on a path that, in front of him, split into two. Down one path, despite the tremendous distance Snufkin knew laid between them, he could see Moominhouse clear as ever, could see through the windows where the occupants bustled about; Moominmamma preparing seeds for her spring garden, Moominpappa smoking his pipe, and Moomin, pressing flowers into a story book. Down the other path, the world seemed indecisive on what it wanted to be, flickering between landscapes. It would be a wild forest, teeming with life and the calls echoing from the treetops, and then Snufkin would blink, and suddenly it was the vast ocean and it’s murky depths, and then Snufkin would blink again and it would be replaced with a foreign town._

____

_Smoke drifted lazily from Moominhouse, the smell of tea and pancakes wafting through the air gently._

____

_Wildlife Snufkin didn’t know the names of called out to him, the trees rustling, bursting at the seams with secrets and promises._

____

_Snufkin closed his eyes and took a step._

____


End file.
